6.21.2007

Yet another faulous fun-filled adventurous day in the majestic land of Iraq, where all that glitters is gold.

We walked through more abandoned wastelands, ghost towns from street corner to street corner, with nothing but trash and discarded anythings. If its locked, break it open. We are denied no access. Broken glass and dried shit crunches under my boots. The stench of they city is inescapable, its just that most times you're used to it, until it strikes with more intensity and catches you off guard.

We found a litter of puppies, timid and paranoid, but not as animated as that little kid. I took a knee and pet a few of them, all huddled together, for a minute. After a minute, they seemed to realize that it was slightly enjoyable, and that I just maybe wasn't going to eat them.

I also found a few wooden mallets, like Looney Tunes type mallets, but more on that in just a bit.

We were inside a building with some IPs (Iraqi Police), bored and talking shit as best as the language border would allow us, when the familiar pop of gunfire broke out. In seconds, it turned into an all out John Woo firefight. Now, mind you, I'm young and very stupid, maybe a little reckless. Which is why I grabbed my rifle and stumbled up to my feet (the gear, mind you) and decided that I wanted to play.

"Let's go, IPs! Yallah!"

They all looked at me like they wanted to say, "Dude, not such a good idea. Let's just kick it in here," but I wasn't having any of it. Not that I'm some badass or something, please. Far from it.

Under the sun and I'm on a knee, scanning and looking and holding my hand out impatiently while I wait for my turn to play with the binoculars. Rifles, machine guns, a BOOM now and then, and my dear god I just want to see where its going down. Where the good guys are, and more importantly, where the bad guys are.

Fucking palm fronds are blocking what's left of the view, after all the other buildings. I'm scanning rooftops, adjusting my posture, the knee pads NEVER sit exactly right and for a second I wonder if I'm going to blow the seam in the groin of my pants again.

Let me just reiterate that there are lots of guns firing at each other. Loud noises, pop crack boom snapsnapsnap, and there I am, bargaining with the fates. "Come on, just give me ONE. One positive ID, one asshole with an AK trying to act stupid, that's all I ask. Just ONE FUCKING GUY." I've got all this ammo on me, and the magazine I have in my rifle is 30 rounds of straight tracers. I don't know who loaded the mag like that, but when I saw it in our tent, I had to snatch it up for myself. Tracers are awesome. I stop thinking about my tacers as I peer through binoculars and fidget restlessly. Rooftops. Rooftops. Sandbags? Damn, IPs. Ooh! PEOPLE ON A ROOFTOP!!! Shit, they're just watching. Fuck, I bet those motherfuckers have a perfect fucking view, too! They probably have a perfect line of sight to these bomb-laying squirts of Jaeger-shit, and here I am with my thumb up my ass.

The gunfire stops.

Now, though it may sound sick, its the truth. I was bummed. If you've seen Jarhead and remember how frustrated they became when they couldn't kill anyone, well it was similar to that. Its not that I just want to kill a human being just to do it, that's stupid. I don't want to kill any random person, god no. I sure DO want to kill the assholes who are screwing this country six ways to oblivion. Is that so wrong? Ultimately, probably. But I don't care. This place isn't going to calm down if I say please, and this place isn't going to calm down if I lay waste to a hundred assholes, but the latter is my job, and it sounds a hell of a lot more effective than the former.

I walk inside, visibly disappointed. The IPs see this and attempt to console me, or atleast convince me that we don't need to go out there and kick some ass, or some New Age mumbo jumbo like that. By this point, they had decided that I was fucking nuts. Which is ok in my book. I want those guys on their toes and watching their asses and staying in line, and especially not getting in our way or EVER underestimating us.

When we finally left and returned to the FOB, we climbed out of the stryker and started cleaning it out and restocking water. I decided that I wanted to play with my Mirth Mallet some more. And this is WHY it's called the Mirth Mallet:

I took an unopened can, some sort of energy drink in a baby-sized can, and set it down on the dirt in our motor pool. I then reared back and dropped my hammer of justice onto it, causing it to explode in a beautiful cascade of splattering golden energy goodness. The can was annihilated, and looked as if it exploded from within, which it might have.

Stupid to you, probably, but I found this to be absolutely hilarious. Maybe I was just in that laughing mood, but come on, that jerkoff Gallagher is pretty damn funny. Watching him is one thing, but doing it, well that takes it to a whole new level. Seriously, go get a hammer or something, preferably a mallet, and smash things. Things that splash work exceptionally well. If you don't think its fun, well then you're old.

The Iraqi kids love to watch us break things like doors. Well wait til they get a load of me.

Your writing skills have jumped several levels and your sense of humor is at it's best. You'll be happy to know (if you don't already) that the biggest battle since 2003 is going well in Baqubah. Michael Yon is in the thick of it with your buddiesw from Fort Lewis.

"I am with 3-2 Stryker Brigade Combat Team. I’ve run a few missions with them in Baghdad, and they have fought all over Iraq. This Brigade has much recent combat experience, and is expertly commanded. A person does not need to even meet the commanders (though I do each day) to know they are running a tight ship. The professionalism of 3-2 is particularly high, and they are very competent fighters who are maximizing their assets, including the incredible Stryker vehicles."

http://michaelyon-online.com/wp/surrender-or-die.htm

That professionalism he speaks of applies to your unit as well. Keep up the good work Suspect. Don't zig when you should zag.

Thanks for writing reality, propaganda aside. Goes without saying that you think of your safety. You are all heroes already. And if you find something to make a laugh at the end of the day, go for it! 4/2 mom

How To Condemn Your Soul

Episode II

This is a continuation of the blog originally hosted at eleven-bravo.blogspot.com. Through a twist of fate, I was not given the MOS 11B, instead I became an 11C. Calling a blog eleven-bravo when I'm 11C is moot.

The old blog contains the first phase of my brief army career. This is the second, the deployment.

It is also crap.

Cover Your Ass

You can't trust everything you read or take it all for face value. NO ONE has the entire view of the Iraq war. There are millions of pieces of the puzzle, perspectives from all sides and it can never be fully understood. This perspective comes from me, a young, uneducated, barely-passable Infantryman. This isn't the news. It's just a look through another set of eyes, nothing more.

Details are omitted to protect OPSEC. Here's a stolen disclaimer.

This website is privately operated and was designed to provide personal information, views and commentary about the authors experiences in Iraq and elsewhere. The images depicted and opinions expressed on this website are solely those of the author and contributors and not those of any agency of the United States Government, expressly including, but not limited to, the Department of Defense, the United States Army, or the United States Army Reserve. The site is not designed, authorized, sanctioned, or affiliated, by or with, any agency of the United States Government, expressly including, but not limited to, the Department of Defense, the United States Army, or the United States Army Reserve. Users and abusers accept and agree to this disclaimer in the use of any information accessed in this website.